


Eve Of Despair

by Quidell



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Funny, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quidell/pseuds/Quidell
Summary: Meet Eve Delane, the estranged young woman with the frightened complexity of inevitably going insane. Literally.





	

Rotten apples? Check. Long overdue expired milk? Check. Cheese with parasitic white fluffy growth growing on it? Check. Squashed red grapes? Check. Phone? Check.

…

Wait a minute!

My cellphone definitely, and most positively, did not belong in the trash. I would know. It belonged to me, not the thieving trash. It was precious to me. There was no way in the H-word I could live without it. The trash can go fudge itself and find its own phone to gobble up and never have the owner ever see it again. Not gonna happen to my phone. No, siree. 

Then why did I just put it back into the trash again!

Today was not my day…

Picking my phone up one last time in the trash, carefully placing it on my countertop, and pushing the trash can back into the stinky cupboard it will forever belong to, I finally let out a small exasperated sigh when I closed the door, forever locking the trickster in its rightful place. At least, until the sequel commenced, the trash attempting to thwart my attempt in throwing away actual trash and not personal belongings…

There I go again, getting ahead of myself. 

Letting out one last sigh, I closed my now partially cleaned fridge and walked over to my coffee pot that sat in the corner of my small studio kitchen apartment. The smell alone drawing me in like a catnip cat addict, while, at the same time, making me forget my epic battle of dominance for the time being and replacing it with the attractive thought of a nice warm cup of wake-me-the-fudge-up-now brew for the start of my morning routine. 

Watching as the dark liquid pour into my large coffee mug (and then making sure I stopped two-thirds of an inch from the top), my way of thinking began to dwindle on the events I had mentally planned for the day. The small town fall festival was commencing today, and I volunteered to help set everything up that wasn’t finished last night before eight. 

Well, at least I had something planned for today and tomorrow. My weekends usually consisted of old heartfelt movies and a tub of cookie dough ice cream and a rather large spoon...among other things I wasn’t going to mention.

After drinking the black liquid and finished cleaning my dishes, drying, and putting everything away in their rightful places, I headed to my bedroom and hurriedly dressed into a pair of worn blue jeans, a purple sweater that had my old high school name on the front and back, and a baseball cap for good measure. It was supposed to be sunny today, after all. My eyes hated the sun. I, on the other hand, enjoyed the cancerous rays to their fullest extent. Until I’d get a sunburn, then everyone would know my bitter hatred for the, momentarily, cursed rays from the ball of hot, blistering gas shining uncaringly above. 

Everyone would know of my suffering--especially my goldfish, Mr. Bubbles. He was a good listener. He always liked to blow bubbles when I talked to him at night, hence the name. 

“See you later tonight, Mr Bubbles!” I called into my studio apartment as I was about to leave. Taking one last long look around my living space, I then closed the door behind me, making sure I locked it before heading my way down the empty hallway. 

My hands curled into the front pocket of my sweatshirt where they sat as my short legs continued trudging forward down the stairs and out the apartment complex and then down a street that would lead to where the festival was being held, taking hostage of the poor unsuspecting fifty blocks in the epicenter of downtown Curtisville, Michigan. 

It didn’t take me long to reach my destination. When I arrived, I could see from a distance that the others had made a lot of progress without me, even in the dark at five in the morning I could see the large, white tents from where I was standing (more like walking at a leisurely pace, but you get where I was going--hopefully), and I still had about a ten minute straight walk before I arrived at the ‘gates’ of this whole covert (not really) operation.

When I was only a couple of feet away, my pace quickened when a head full of red, wavy, short hair popped out from behind a tent, his back facing me as he walked backward helping with carrying a rather large, and awkward, couch. 

Was that? No, it couldn't be?

Wait, it was!

The poor guy didn’t stand a chance when I pounced from behind and wrapped my arms around his unexpecting neck, effectively forcing him to drop his end of the couch, much to the other guys’ discomfort--if his aggravating yell was anything to go by. My startled ginger prey reached up and grabbed onto my wrists and pulled lightly on them for me to let go. Once I complied with a short laugh, I took a step back with a crap-eating grin--he whirled around to face me, his dark right eyebrow raised in my general direction, it alone asking me ‘what was that for’?

“How’s it going, Jordan?” I asked, my smile growing with each passing moment. “I didn’t know you were back so soon from New York?”

It had been a full year and a half since I last saw Jordan. After High School, Jordan went to New York to attend a college down there, claiming he was more of a city kind of guy than a small town guy. Girls in the big city liked small town men, in his opinion. Of course, at the time, I’d questioned his own definition of what ‘being a man’ meant to him, because, in my eyes at the time, Jordan wasn't a man. Not then.

Now, however, he’d grown. A lot. And I didn’t mean growth as in he grew upwards like a simple growth spurt like Jack’s beanstalk (nope, no miniature goose pooping golden eggs on top of his head, I just checked), what I meant was that he grew out, broader. More of a --definition to his otherwise once feeble demeanor. It made him stick out like a sore thumb, more so than when he was a simple weak, and lengthy, redhead. It was intriguing, to say the least, on how much he’d changed. But, as he was looking down at me with the same quirked eyebrow and ever growing grin, I knew that the outside what the only thing that had changed. The childish light in his eyes still burned with an intensity I knew only Jordan could harbor at such an--older age. 

Besides the sudden muscle definition, I didn’t know his body could even withstand, he still looked like the Jordan I remembered, to a certain extent. His unique blue eyes coupled with his red--with a brown undertone--hair, sharp chin, and brows, and unique, asymmetrical lips, and high cheekbones, all still present, giving off a boyish charm only known to me as the boy I grew up with since I was two. 

His features, when comparing to my own, was a total contrast I only started to notice when I first entered High School, most likely due to hormones, no doubt. Ignoring how he was a boy and I was a girl, I couldn’t help but compare myself to him, especially when our appearances started to shift when the hormones decided they wanted to kick us both in the coochies--literally.

I started to get these lumps on my chest. Yes, I knew what they were when they’d started to appear out of nowhere one morning in middle school, and then decided they wanted to take on the shape of teardrop balloons, and then escalated from there--but I still, till this very day, consider them a hindrance.Why? Well, it wasn’t easy playing Soccer with them, that was for sure. And they also liked to draw the attention of boys, and that was when I’d decided they were cancerous, lusterous lumps of no-nos, only out to ruin my life with their slutty, bulbous and ravenous attention seeking whoring ways. 

To put it simply: my boobs were sluts. Not big sluts, but sluts all the same (see what I did there, eh? EH!?).

After that introduction to unwanted biology territory, my perceived innocent mind (that I allowed everyone to believe), was introduced to, I started to take note of all the things I overlooked in my younger years. Besides the obvious physical appearances like Jordan’s dark red hair, my dark brown hair; Jordan’s bright blue eyes, my dark brown eyes; Jordan’s tall, lengthy feature, my short petite features, I noticed the not-so-obvious differences between us, or, technically, to be more honest and practical, between men and women, boys and girls, in general. 

Not saying I didn’t know the whole human race had two genders thing! Just that, I’d never paid attention to the differences of the two due to the fact of--something else pulling all my confused attention the whole duration of my childhood life. 

Wait, why was Jordan giving me that look?

“Earth to Eve--anyone in there?” Jordan prodded, waving his hand in front of my blanked out face. 

Blinking, and then shaking my head, I diverted my attention, again, back to Jordan, all 99.8 percent of it. Despite my sudden lack of attention on the conversation on hand, Jordan gave me his usual kind, yet knowing, smile. 

“Glad to see you haven’t changed, shrimp.” He laughed at the face I pulled, hating how he still used that nickname. Not my fault I’m short…

“Sorry,” I muttered, defeated. “What were you saying? Anything after me inquiring about ‘being back from New York’ would be best.”

Jordan laughed, his voice echoing all around us in a boisterous fashion that was all too familiar. “Still a space cadet, huh? That has to be a new record. Not having teachers breathing down your neck is making you slip further into your insanity if I had to take a gander.” 

I looked away a little sheepishly. To most, his little statement was just playful banter, but that wasn’t the case between us. What he was stating, unfortunately, were facts. 

“More or less.” I shrugged it off. “But we both knew I was on the precipice--it was only a matter of time before I fell into that canon.” Of course, we could still joke about it. 

His smile didn’t falter, even with my little confession. Instead, he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around me. I allowed the contact, breathing in his scent before he let me go, but kept a firm grasp on my shoulder as his eyes looked into mine. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s been too long, Eve.”

I reached up with my left hand and covered his hand over my left shoulder. “Yes. It has. I’ve missed you. Not in that way!” I clarified when I saw the way his eyes flashed mischievously. “There’s no one around to keep up with my playful banter. Everyone else thinks I’m crazy when I try.” 

“Hm,” he hummed out. “Maybe because you are, shrimp.” I made a face which, in return, only made him laugh. “It was only a matter of time before everyone else saw it too,” he continued, letting go of my shoulders so he could stand at his full six foot three height. 

I smiled at his admission. “Maybe, later on, tonight we can catch up. Looks like you’ve been busy.” I eyed his muscley arms to drive in my point. “Or bored in New York this past year?” 

He shrugged, his eyes alight with playfulness when he looked back at me. “You know how it is, the girls like a man with muscles.” He crossed his arms and flexed his muscles to drive in his point. 

“If you two are done,” said an agitated male voice to my left, “I would like to get this couch moved, preferably out of the middle of the street.” 

Jordan and I both turned our heads in unison, looking at the disgruntled blonde teenager that had his arms crossed over his chest. We both said our sorries hurriedly as Jordan bent down to pick up his side of the enormous red couch. Both boys continued on their track of moving the couch as I waved them off. The blonde ignored me while Jordan yelled his see-you-laters as I ran off. 

Meeting Jordan here, especially as I’d just first arrived, was a very pleasant, and most welcoming, surprise. 

Now that I thought about it, however, why didn’t he call and tell me that he was coming back home? Maybe he wanted to surprise me, and I’d ruined the surprise? The questioning had to wait for tonight, unfortunately, but for now, I had a promise to keep. 

Meeting my work friend, Rebecca, the helping commenced, keeping me busy and my dizzying thoughts to themselves in the far reaches of my cranium. Staying and keeping busy was nice, a definite contrast to my usual weekend routines. 

When seven o’clock rolled by, I was helping an older lady set up her woodworking tent. The fifty-year-old had an amazing talent for crafting small wooden figurines, especially precise poses of ballerinas. Looking at her work was intriguing, but when she tried to make small talk, I ignored her. Completely and utterly ignored every single inconceivable small talk details she was telling me about her life and hobbies, trying to pass her time, and nervousness, with me. Which, with the little time she had left, she shouldn’t be wasting it with me. But I couldn’t tell her that. Nope. Had to keep that mouth shut. My mouth was a zipper, and that zipper was glued shut. Super glued shut. I, on the other and more serious hand, didn’t want any of that small talk between us. I didn’t want anything between us. In fact, I didn’t even want to be anywhere near her. 

Will she stop talking to me! Please! To all things that are sane in the world, just shut up!

“...and now I’ve become a grandmother. Finally. I didn’t think it would ever happen, truthfully. I thought my Jennie would never get married and have kids.” She chuckled, not realizing the internal, and real, war she was putting me through as she continued, “I always thought she was gay. She always had a thing for those remote control racing cars when she was younger, you know. I’m proud that she proved me wrong.” Another chuckle as she turned one ballerina one way on her table, then another the other way.

“Do you plan on getting married, deary?” She turned her attention to me after placing her last ballerina on her table. She rubbed her hands together, a gesture I was sure she didn’t realize she was doing as she waited for me to answer her back. 

I stared at her, looking at her gray eyes, crows feet, freckles, and how she went to lick her chapped lips. Her hair was graying, but still had a nice natural blonde color to it, making me briefly wonder why someone still only in her fifties didn’t dye her hair to cover up the aging. 

I finally blinked at her, reached up and pressed my pointer and thumb against my lips and ran them across it, indicating a zipper. She returned my blinking with her own confused ones and then shook her head. 

And then she just had to smile that sweet smile of hers. “You’re a strange one.” She laughed at my expense and then turned around and continued to organize her ballerinas. 

Piece of crap lady! She had no idea what she’d done!

The crow made me care!

Darn it. I needed to get away. Reaching up to my mouth I pulled at the fabricated glue and ripped the zipper across my lips; wincing from the fictional pain. 

“Gotta go,” I rushed out and then turned and hightailed it out of there, not caring if I just made an unnecessary scene. 

After making it across the festival grounds, far away from the lady, I stopped and took in big gulps of air, my hands gripping my knees as I tried to even out my breathing. I started to imagine different color bricks, building them around my fictional self until I calmed down and was able to breathe normally again. 

There, everything was better now. I didn’t care for her anymore, so I was in the clear. 

Yep. Everything was perfect again. 

Perfect. Perfect. Everything was perfect. Clean mind, clean spirit, clean slate. Clean clothes. Clean hair. Clean teeth. Clean air. Clean fluffy clouds. Clean...

And then I just had to remember one very important detail...

I forgot to put on a pair of underwear this morning--again! And that running did not help that little important aspect of good hygiene in the least.

Chaffing was a pain! Holy cow, my jeans decided they wanted to run up my crack and create some uncomfortable friction. Not only that but my jeans, while I was running, decidedly pulled some hairs in--

"Eve!" an all too familiar voice called, making me turn and momentarily forget my uncomfortable dilemma. Walking with a quickened pace on over to me was my friend Rebecca, the one I'd made a promise to help. She was a good work friend, and I to her.

When she stopped in front of me with her bubbly smile, blonde curls springing to a stop, and an oversized furry coat, I returned her welcoming smile (while discretely trying to unhinge my wedgie while she wasn't looking down).

Her hazel eye narrowed, however, once she finally got a good look at me. "Is there anything wrong?" she asked softly, even with her calculative glaring eyes, her voice still held her current concern for me. "Mrs. Pennycracker"--cue the snorted laugh from me--"Told me you ran out on her." Rebecca took a step forward, her eyes finally softening to one of concern, albeit with a predatory gleam. "She said you were as pale as a ghost? Everything alright?"

"That was quick," I noted with a crooked smile, crossing my arms once my wedgie was officially unhinged. "I just ran away seconds ago..." Then it dawned on me; my smile markedly grew tenfold. "Were you spying on me? Again?"

That made her blush. "N-no! Of course not!" she denied, looking anywhere but in my general direction. Her cheeks a nice rosy pink, seemingly glowing in the cold fall weather.

I laughed in her face. "Admit it, 'Becca. You were." I looked her up and down, my eyes growing wide with my next words. "You know I see more than most."

She turned her petite head away from me, her cheeks warming from a light pink to a blazing red.

"Okay," she said meekly. She was still unable to look at me, apparently, as she continued, "I was watching you. Big deal? Can we drop it now?”

“No,” I said flatly.

“Pwwwease?”

“Nada.”

“Ugh! Come on!”

“Me no speakith denial.”

“Denial for what?”

“That you’re totally into me.”

Her whole face lit up in flames, the red matching nicely to the changing leaves. My laughter echoed around us, turning a couple of heads as people got their last preparations squared away before the opening. Her red sneakers moved below her as she shifted from one foot to the other, completely uncomfortable, and still in complete denial.

Rebecca was gay. Something I figured out from the gecko, but considering how girly she was, others would have had never guessed when first meeting her. And it turned out after I'd straight out asked her the first day together on the job, she'd inexplicably, had fallen in love with me. Hard. Some would say it was love at first sight--kind of. Even before I'd mentioned it to her, when I'd first sat next to her during our training labs, she was blushing like a rabid canine.

Of course, I'm not saying that I'm drop dead gorgeous that people are prone to falling in love with me at first sight, but there are some people out there that are attracted to weird, and Rebecca was one of those estranged freaks.

Okay, I was getting off track. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stop zoning off!

"Uh--Eve?" Rebecca cut into my insane mantra, forcing me to blink my eyes back into reality. "You're sort of, erm, hitting yourself. On your head. Over and Over again...?"

And she was right, I, inadvertently, tried to smack the inane monologuing away without my knowledge of actually doing it. 

"Darn you, brain," I seethed into the air, my fist shaking comically in front of me. "Doing things without my consent. How dare it!"

My artful distraction worked when Rebecca broke out into a fit of giggles, brushing off my weird habit with me just being me. Which, in fact, couldn't have been more to the point to my self's’ sanity than she actually realized. If that made any sense; which, to a sane person, it probably didn’t. Hehe. 

Cue the insane inner monologuing laughter. 

Now turn it off because she was talking to me again. Darn it!

 

"...seriously Eve," she continued, not realizing I didn't hear the first half of her sentence. "What happened earlier? You were scared. I’ve never seen you that terrified before." She took a step forward and squeezed her hand on my shoulder, her way of showing comfort and understanding. I also noticed the small blush forming on her cheeks from the little bit of contact. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I won't judge you. I can never judge you." She smiled.

No, 'Becca. No I can't.

You wouldn't understand.

Heck, I couldn’t and still can't understand it, and I lived with it since birth.

I shook my head and gave her my best meaningful smile. “It was nothing, just me being me. You know how me can be me--you know what I mean?” 

Her eyes did that roll upwards, showing her exasperation. That usually meant I won. Go me. She let out a small sigh before shaking her head at me, her eyes now alight with a hidden passion I was familiar with, but still showing her displeasure with another eye roll before letting it go. “Whatever you say, Eve. What I said earlier still stands, however. Don’t forget it, okay?”

I crossed my pointer finger and middle finger and raised it up parallel to my head, giving her another devilish grin. “Scouts honor.”

She laughed, the tension finally dispersing and fluttering off into the wind to die a pitiful death of devoided emptiness. I watched it flutter, waving it adieu before turning my attention back to Rebecca, giving her a double shoulder shrug when I was suddenly greeted with a raised eyebrow, most likely due to my weird, imaginative antics. Again, she shook it off, seemingly use to my weirdness (and probably was telling herself it was one of my quirks that she absolutely loved about me) before propositioning that we try out all the food stands before the festival “opened” to the public. 

After three elephant ears, two dark cherry ice drinks, and three hot dogs (not all to myself!), the festival finally commenced, filling up the blocks with bodies of people and vendors. Everyone was smiling, laughing, and having a good ol’ time--but for me. 

That nagging, all too familiar feeling kept itching in the back of my head. Itching and itching and itching. Both figuratively, and physically. It would not go away, no matter what I did. 

Rebecca kept asking me if I was still okay, I could see the worry clear as day in her eyes. 

If she knew, if I told her, would she still consider me my friend?

It itches. It itches so much. 

And the itching pain was radiating to my eyes, making everything blurry and all I could see was that red stinkin’ glow that I hated with a deep passion. If only I had the courage, the wits, to get rid of these eyes…

Everything would be so much simpler. So much better. 

But--gah! It hurt. The pain hurt. 

Why does pain hurt so much?

“Eve? Eve!” 

Hands gripped my shoulders, and when I came back to reality after those hands began to shake me, I finally noticed I was on the ground, on my knees, with my fingernails digging into my eyes.

Relinquishing my eyes from the evil clutches of my nails, I couldn’t help but wince from the light pain I caused, most likely leaving indents around my eyes; showcasing the potential psychopath that I was becoming. 

The psychopath that I was becoming… Did I believe that; was I truly becoming that? 

It was a good explanation really, these episodes always happened when I came across people like that old lady. It never ceased. The same tyrant of pain I could never escape. 

And the funniest, yet cruel part about the pain: It was a simple, and minuscule curiosity, nothing more. A curiosity that festers, and festers, and digs deep within until I can no longer take it; take the pain it caused me. 

It hurt, it had dug so deeply there was no escaping it. There was only one way to stop the pain. 

“Hey!” I blinked the blurry sensation from my eyes until Rebecca’s worried face was clear within my vision. “I have an idea,” I said cheerfully, acting as if nothing had happened. 

We were still on the ground, myself on my knees, her crouching before me, and everyone else walking past us and staring with curiosity, wondering to themselves if I was okay and if they needed to stop and help in any way.

She blinked at me, thoroughly confused. I couldn’t blame her, but we needed to speed this along, I didn’t have much longer before I exploded and started to talk in tongues or something. Whatever the crazies liked to do. Haven’t reached that point yet so I could only speculate (at least, I didn’t think I’d reached that point). 

“Um, okay?” she conceded, her lips thinned to a fline line as she pressed them tightly together. 

“Excellent.” I pulled her up by her hand and headed in the direction the woodworker lady had her tent set up. Rebecca followed behind me, silent all the way as we went. 

As I grew closer to my destination, the less my eyes hurt. I still had that nagging feeling in the back of my head, festering me to move faster, and I complied, almost jogging as I moved my legs with a quickened pace. 

I hadn’t realized I was breathing hard until I came to a complete stop, my eyes trained to the aging woman now in my vicinity. She was currently talking to a customer, her smile beaming from where I was standing. 

I made it just in time. 

Then I held my ragged breath, my eyes growing wide as I watched the line of zeroes come to light. 

And then she fell. Just like that. One of her wooden ballerina clutched tightly in her grasp.

It took a moment, but after about a minute of the woman lying on the ground unmoving, that chaos finally decided it wanted to erupt around everyone and everything. 

I slowly began to breathe again, taking in big breaths of air, allowing my oxygen deprived lungs to expand with relief. And then I let it all out, the pain, the curiosity, everything until I felt normal again. Finally. 

And then I smiled. 

“I-is she okay?” I heard Rebecca whisper. Glancing to my right, I saw her standing next to me, not paying any heed to my earlier internal struggle, and was watching the scene before her with tear-filled, frightened eyes. When I turned back and watched as two men worked together to give the woman proficient CPR, I shook my head. 

“No. She died.” 

Rebecca finally turned her head to look at me, her eyes wide with shock from my blunt wording. “How do you know that?’ she whispered, eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

I stared at her a moment, my face unreadable and blank before I turned away and closed my eyes, tilting my head up as I sighed lowly. “I don’t,” I lied. “I’m only guessing.” 

There was a moment of a pause before she said, “I never took you to be so morbid, Eve.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t reply. I didn’t know how to.

So, instead, I turned away and worked my way out of the crowd that formed around the scene, not watching to see if Rebecca followed me or not. 

Once out of the throng of people, I stopped and took a deep breath in, relaxing with the feeling of just feeling normal again. 

Through the panic, I heard, as well as felt, someone walking up from behind me. Taking in another breath of feeling-good air, I turned around and prepared myself for the talk with Rebecca I knew was bound to come to light when I’d first made friends with her. It always did. 

However, when I turned around, I wasn’t greeted with the short stature of curly blonde hair and worried-hazel eyes, but instead--I was greeted by a white shirt belonging to a person that stood with height, standing directly in front of me, well within my personal space. 

Taking a large step back, I tilted my head up, my eyes first glancing above his head, a habit I couldn’t shake when I would first meet someone, then they slide down, taking note of his messy black hair, gray eyes, slender face, and a small light smile on his chapped, cracked lips. 

All in all, a creepy man. But very, very, intriguing. 

My eyes moved back to his when his own glanced up, right over my head, making me hold my breath. 

“How--interesting,” he said, his voice alight with a quality I would closely resemble to a child first witnessing a large assortment of candy at a candy shop. And then, his eyes moved down to mine, wide and focused, boring into my own with an intensity I couldn’t understand. 

His smile grew to one that was more friendly, and the intensity of his eyes easily clouded over with a sense of curiosity as he reached his hand out to shake mine. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Evelyn DeLane.”

I looked down at his large pale hand and took it without a second thought, finding it to be warm. 

“The pleasure is all mine”--looking up above his head, seeing the letters bore down onto me with their intensity, a missing puzzle piece below his name that had no glow that everyone else was attached to--”Beyond Birthday.”


End file.
